An ice-water wash seemed to pour down through the middle of Miles's chest, quenching his hot exaltation. What? He scarcely felt able to think straight. A memory filled his inner vision, of a docking bay crammed wall-to-wall with Dendarii troopers chanting, Naismith, Naismith, Naismith!

My first victory.

. . . Do you remember what it cost?

His grin had become fixed. "I . . . I . . . I . . ." He swallowed twice, and cleared his throat. As if echoing from some far-off tunnel he heard his voice—which him?—saying, "I'm going to have to think about this, General."

"Please do," said Haroche genially. "Take your time. But don't leave me in suspense forever—I can already imagine a use for the Dendarii in a certain situation which looks to be looming out near Kline Station. I'd love to discuss it with you, if you're in. I'd like your advice."

Miles's eyes were wide and dilated, his face pale and damp. "Thank you, General," he choked out. "Thank you very . . ."

He scrambled out of his chair, still smiling with bleeding lips. He almost caromed off the door frame like a drunken man; Haroche keyed the door open for him just in time. A mumbled word to Haroche's secretary had Martin and the groundcar waiting for Miles by the time he reached the building's exit.

Miles waved Martin away, and sat alone in the rear compartment. He silvered the canopy, and wished he might as easily blank out the shocky expression on his face. He felt as if he was fleeing a battlefield. But where was the wound in all this grinning glory?

He didn't stop retreating till he was back at Vorkosigan House. He ducked past his mother's retainers, and swung wide around Illyan's guest suite. He locked himself in his own bedroom, and began to pace, till he found his gaze fixated on his comconsole. It seemed to stare back at him with Horus eyes. He fled up one floor further, to the little spare room with the old wing chair. It felt small enough at last to contain him, soothing as a straitjacket. He didn't bring the brandy or the knife, this time. They would have been redundant.

He locked the door, and flung himself into the wingchair. Not just his hands but his whole body was shaking.

His old job back. Everything to be as it was before.

Tell me about denial now, huh? He'd thought he was over Naismith. Lord Vorkosigan had the upper hand, right. Pretend not to care Naismith was gone. Pretend to walk on water, while he was about it, why not? So that's why I feel like I'm drowning. The truth comes out.

You want it? Want the Dendarii back?

Yes!